I challenge not the oracle I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn . If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep. If men be worlds, there is in every one If this great world of joy and pain If thou be one whose heart the holy forms I have ships that went to sea. I hear thy solemn anthem fall I know a little garden close I made a footing in the wall I made a posie while the day ran by I mind it weel, in early date I'm sitting alone by the fire I must go furnish up . Inland, within a hollow vale I stood In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest In the frosty season, when the sun In the golden reign of Charlemagne the king. In the summer even In this world, the isle of dreams In vain the common theme my tongue would shun In what torn ship soever I embark In Xanadu did Kubla Khan In yonder grave a Druid lies I see a dusk and awful figure rise I see before me the gladiator lie I see men's judgments are. I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus. I sift the snow on the mountains below I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he. Is there for honest poverty Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child? It don't seem hardly right, John. It follows now you are to prove It happed that I came on a day I think not on my father It is not to be thought of that the flood It little profits that an idle king It's narrow, narrow make your bed HERRICK. TENNYSON SCOTT 123 232 180 126 462 514 BYRON 283 SHAKSPEARE 511 SHAKSPEARE 265 SHELLEY 46 3 355 147 276 LOWELL 235 BEN JONSON 433 CHAUCER 60 SHAKSPEARE 62 WORDSWORTH 223 101 384 BURNS 518 LONGFELLOW 280 LONGFELLOW 11 TENNYSON 381 MILTON. 187 W. CONGREVE 133 WORDSWORTH 33 PATMORE 59 SCOTT 411 N. P. WILLIS 57 BYRON. 277 John Anderson, my jo, John John Brown in Kansas settled like a steadfast King Ferdinand alone did stand one day upon the hill LOCKHART'S SPANISH BAL- 293 517 Life and thought have gone away Life may be given in many ways Like a poet hidden Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore. Like to the clear in highest sphere. Lithe and listen, gentlemen." Little I ask, my wants are few Little was King Laurin Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day Look not thou on beauty's charming Lord, when I quit this earthly stage Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round Loud is the vale, the voice is up Lo, when the Lord made North and South Macbeth is ripe for shaking Man, thee behooveth oft to have this in mind Merciful Heaven! Merry it is in the good green wood Methought I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more Milton, thou shouldst be living at this hour . Mine honesty and I begin to square. My God, I heard this day My liege, I did deny no prisoners. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun My mother, when I learned that thou wast dead Naked on parents' knees, a new-born child. Needy knife-grinder, whither are you going? No more, no more, Oh! never more on me No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome November chill blaws lond wi' angry sugh Now is the time for mirth Now is the winter of our discontent. Now Nature hangs her mantle green Now overhead a rainbow bursting through Now ponder well, you parents dear O Brignall Banks are wild and fair O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon O divine star of heaven O draw me, Father, after thee O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea Of a' the airts the wind can blaw Of all the rides since the birth of time O for my sake do you with fortune chide' Oft in the stilly night Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love, and hope O heavens, if you do love old men O heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale? Oh, have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem Oh, weel may the boatie row O-I have passed a miserable night O joy hast thou a face O keeper of the sacred key O listen, listen, ladies gay Old wine to drink O Lord, in me there lieth nought O messenger, art thou the king, or I? O my luve's like a red, red rose Once we built our fortress where you see O never rudely will I blame his faith' One day, nigh weary of the irksome way O Proserpina. Or if the soul of proper kind. Orpheus with his lute made trees O Sacred Providence, who from end to end O than the fairest day thrice fairer night O that we now had here O the days are gone when beauty bright O then what soul was his, when, on the tops O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you Othon who in the heavens dost dwell O thou that swing'st upon the waving ear Our boat to the waves go free Our brethren of New England use 289 SHAKSPEARE 521 BUTLER Our bugles sang truce; for the night cloud had lowered CAMPBELL Our revels now are ended Out upon it: I have loved Out upon time, who will leave no more O waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk O waly, waly, up the bank Oye wha are sae guid yoursel Passion o' me! cried Sir Richard Tyrone. Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Pleased we remember our august abodes Queen Bonduca, I do not grieve your fortune Rambling along the marshes Stern daughter of the voice of God Rabia, sick upon her bed Rashly, And praised be rashness for it Reason thus with life Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaps. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky. BYRON Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down LOCKHART Round my own pretty rose Royal Egypt! Empress . Rudolph, professor of the headsman's trade Ruin seize thee, ruthless king Rumble thy belly full! spit fire! spout rain! Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears Say to me, whose fortunes shall rise higher Say, what is Honor? Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled See how the Orient dew See living vales by living waters blest See the chariot at hand here of love See yonder souls set far within the shade Shall I, wasting in despair? She, of whose soul, if we may say, 'twas gold. Shine kindly forth, September sun Silence augmenteth grief - writing encreaseth rage Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water Sing, and let your song be new Sing, O Goddess, the wrath, the ontamable dander of Keitt Sitting in my Sleep is like death, and after sleep So, when their feet were planted on the plain St. Mark's hushed abbey heard Star of the flowers and flower of the stars Still to be neat, still to be drest Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side. Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright Sweet echo, sweetest nymph that liv'st unseen Sweet peace, where dost thou dwell Sweet scented flower, who art wont to bloom Take along with thee Take, O take those lips away. Teach me, my God and King Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind. Tell me where is fancy bred Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue Thanks for the lessons of this spot That instrument ne'er heard. That regal soul I reverence in whose eyes That which her slender waist confined The Abbot on the threshold stood The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold. The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne. T. H. BAYLY SHAKSPEARE BEN JONSON TENNYSON MISS S. H. PALFREY WORDSWORTH BEN JONSON E. S. H. 171 192 447 35 521 BROOKE) 467 441 78 84 227 476 518 294 434 417 34 149 87 The birds against the April wind The bush that has most briars and bitter fruit The curfew tolls the knell of parting day The daughter of a king, how should I know?. The destiny, minister general The earth goes on, the earth glittering in gold. The feathered songster Chanticleer The flighty purpose never is o'ertook The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices The gods be your terror. The harp that once through Tara's halls. The king is full of grace and fair regard BRYANT HERBERT 147 WORDSWORTH 191 BYRON. 42 BYRON 310 GEORGE WITHER 96 BURNS 95 SIR T. BROWNE 185 The night is past and shines the sun J. T. TROWBRIDGE 48 284 150 The Lord descended from above The melancholy days are come The minstrels played their Christmas tune The muse, nae poet ever fand her The night is made for cooling shade. The old man said, "Take thou this shield, my son" S. G. W The old mayor climbed the belfry tower BEN JONSON There are points from which we can command our life P. BAILEY The recluse hermit ofttimes more doth know. There in the fane a beauteous creature stands There is a history in all men's lives There is a mystery in the soul of state There is an island on a river lying There is a pleasure in the pathless woods There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale There was a laughing devil in his sneer There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream. Ther is right at the West side of Itaille The sea rolls vaguely, and the stars are dumb |